


Hunger and Feast

by Harukami



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, really just an excuse for porn, you probably can't take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harukami/pseuds/Harukami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waver wants Rider, and Rider's happy to oblige, but Waver might be a liiiiittle out of his depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger and Feast

The rest of the walk home is spent with a strange kind of tension. He can't stop thinking about Rider, the imaginary scenery in Rider's heart, Rider's estimation of them as the same. Rider calling himself an idiot too, who couldn't stop dreaming of the same scene for thousands of years. His fingernails bite into his palms and he couldn't explain why. It doesn't improve when they get back to his room and Rider stretches with a loud, almost vulgar sound, and strips his pants off, like he always does when they get back. Waver sits on his bed in a mood that doesn't quite feel like a sulk and grinds his teeth.

He doesn't think it makes any sound, but Rider seems to notice anyway, tilts his head back from where he's plopped down onto the floor, and regards Waver with one small, intelligent eye. "Boy?"

Waver fights against the urge to make Rider repeat himself, because that's definitely too far. Rider's not someone who'll have much patience for _did you really mean_ \-- if he didn't mean it, he wouldn't say it. Instead, he just shook his head. "It's nothing," he says.

Rider lets out a sigh and reaches one arm back and snags Waver off the bed. He's as capable of fighting an I-beam; just lets out an undignified squawk as Rider yanks him around, tumbles him into his lap.

"Rider!" Waver wails, struggling against the relaxed grip of Rider's arm as he tries to pull away. It's not like he could ever pretend he hasn't imagined being here, but he hasn't _wanted_ to imagine being here, and certainly doesn't like how his breath is coming faster and his cheeks have heated up and his dick is getting hard. He knows history well enough, at least in a general sense, and wouldn't delude himself that gay sex wasn't a perfectly common thing among Greek citizens and doesn't have any belief that Rider wouldn't clue into his arousal before he could come up with a plausible way to hide it. If he hasn't already noticed, Waver would be surprised. He closes his eyes and scowls and wills his red cheeks to keep heating up, sure; better to blush hard enough to faint and draw blood away from his cock if that was even possible.

"You're always so fussy, boy," Rider says, with amicable fondness. Waver opens mouth to protest and can't, not with Rider's broad tongue pressing into it.

The sound he makes comes out strangled and desperate, as if his need to protest just came out in sheer emotion, and he closes his eyes again and clutches white-knuckled shaky fingers in the cheap cotton of Rider's stupid t-shirt and holds on. Rider tastes odd, but that might just be the experience of tasting someone else's mouth, he thinks; it isn't that Rider's mouth tastes bad or good, just like a mouth that isn't his, like he's completely used to the taste of his own saliva and has tuned it out but Rider's mouth is just different enough to feel completely weird. He's fixating, but can't help it, not with Rider's tongue stroking along his, suffocatingly thorough and broad and deep and shivers literally are rolling up his spine. Rider's beard is rubbing Waver's chin, feels raw, different.

When Rider pulls back Waver _feels_ his face go stupid, feels the flush and the way his eyes are almost completely closed, just open enough for him to see his own eyelashes trembling in his vision, his mouth open and his tongue out as he draws air and can taste Rider's saliva cooling on his lip and hanging from his tongue and --

"What a face," Rider says, with laughter in his voice. 

"You're making fun of me!" Waver accuses, flushing harder, trying to push away again, but Rider draws him closer. "Rider!"

A laugh, and a shrug. "I'm making fun of you," Rider agrees, easily. "You're hungry, aren't you? Had a conversation and felt your emptiness, began to crave. I told you you've got the qualities of a king."

He scowls helplessly. "I never -- I don't--"

"So, if you're hungry, we feast," Rider says. "Let's feast."

What can he say? He wants to say no just on the principle of it, but wants not to say no to the hero dragging him closer, nuzzling into his throat and opening his broad mouth to swipe his tongue against Waver's pulse. It sends shocks through him his skin feeling completely itchy like he wants to climb right out of it, and he tilts his head back and shivers against the tickle of Rider's whiskers and says, "Fine, whatever!"

Rider lets out a laugh, booming and pleased, and Waver suddenly thinks about his 'grandparents' downstairs and hopes that they tune what's going to happen out or think it's something else or maybe that their hearing is going? Their hearing might be going. He never asked but it's not like they complain too much about Rider's constant noisiness. Rider rolls Waver back, strips his sweater off him in one smooth strong gesture that leaves Waver's hair sticking out every which way and Waver almost losing his balance and falling off Rider's leg.

They kiss again and this time Waver manages to keep some semblance of sanity around himself and kisses back and lets himself touch, at little. He spreads his hands against the muscles of Rider's chest, feeling them tense and move with Rider's movement, with his breaths. Feels the hair on his chest through his shirt, rubs a palm up against one hard nipple, gets a throaty rumble in return. He can't quite avoid the pleased, smug flush he gets at that sound, mouth a little parted, feeling strangely victorious.

"Keep that up, boy, that's nice," Rider says, tone easy, and strips off his shirt.

That leaves Waver touching chest instead, which is a move he's not entirely sure he's prepared for, but he lets himself be anyway, running fingers through Rider's chest hair and touching one of those hard flushed nipples, because otherwise he has to think about the fact that Rider's unbuttoning Waver's shirt, those huge hands tracing patterns on his skin, and that Rider's boxers are tented, that he can feel Rider's tucked dick swollen against his thigh where he's straddling it. Skin and hair and nipple is way safer and Waver approaches that chest like a lifeboat in a sea of sexuality, dragging his hands, touching everything, leaning in to lick until he's flung bodily back by Rider stripping his shirt off too, yanking it off him. He goes sprawling onto Rider's futon, almost dazed, and by the time he realizes Rider is yanking off Waver's pants too, his wail is already late.

 _Don't you dare laugh, you bastard,_ he thinks frantically at Rider, his hands over his face, as Rider strokes his beard and gazes down at Waver's naked body. He doesn't think that his dick's particularly unimpressive from a man his height and weight but it's not even comparable to what little he'd let himself notice of Rider's half-erection. Hell, it wasn't even comparable to the times he'd seen Rider limp.

"Hm," Rider says, then shifts, tugging his boxers off.

Immediately, Waver regrets that he even started to think a comparison. A closer comparison would be his forearm or maybe his shin. He finds himself shaking his head without even being able to put words to it, a silent 'no' even while his traitor cock gets harder at the sight of Rider's swollen goddamn horse erection. Every part of him that isn't his active consciousness wants Rider, wants to touch, taste, feel, just have some kind of contact right now and not stop until he'd come, but his consciousness is, without his permission, calculating basic volume and it doesn't add up.

Rider starts to lean over him, then pauses, concerned. "Boy?" he asks.

Waver has to wonder what his face looks like right now. "I can't," he manages hoarsely, finally. "You're too big? I can't. I ...can't."

A long pause, Rider blinking down at him, and then he lets out another of his loud laughs. The way he's leaning over Waver, Waver can feel it as much as hear it, both due to the movement of Rider's body, his strong muscles and breaths, and the sound itself vibrating him. "Where do you think I was going to stick it, boy?"

" _Well_ ," Waver says, aiming for exasperated and coming out with a tone that just doesn't sound right at all, sounds instead like maybe he thinks the only place that could take Rider's cock is a well shaft, or that he'd need a wishing well to get that kind of elasticity or something. 

Rider slides a hand between Waver's thighs, rubbing. "This is fine," he says. "You've got nice legs, boy."

It's possibly the strangest compliment he's ever received for such a normal compliment. "Thanks?" he says, and then Rider's pressing him back, his heavy weight shoving Waver into the futon, dick sliding between his thighs and humping him down roughly.

Each movement of Rider's body steals his breath, Rider's weight only saved from being too heavy by Rider's strong arms holding himself up just enough, but every thrust drives him back and Waver's fine with that, fine with not breathing. Every time he finds he can't breathe it just seems to turn him on more, like Rider's stealing the breath from his lungs with every movement, and giving it back when he pulls back a little, like Rider's completely controlling Waver's breathing, and that probably shouldn't be almost as much of a turn-on as the feeling of Rider's cock grinding against his balls and perineum and ass, rubbing between his thighs, or of the pressure on his own dick whenever Rider grinds down against him. Waver lets out a cry he can't control and arches, hooking his ankles together to give Rider more pressure, grinding hard against Rider's strong, muscular stomach. He flings his arms up around Rider's chest, and clings to him shakingly, their bodies barely separating between thrusts, a rough, jerky movement of them shoving against each other and there's no way he'll last.

He doesn't, had barely has the chance to _think_ it and his fingernails are clawing into Rider's back and he's coming, lacking even enough breath to do more than mouth Rider's name around a rough, toneless exhale. He thinks a shaky, exhilarated _don't make fun of me_ , even as he comes, but Rider doesn't make fun of him at all. Rider just makes a pleased, proud noise, moves one hand to gently cup the back of Waver's head, and keeps thrusting.

Waver lays there dazed, airless and over-heated and sticky and stupid with pleasure, and tries to keep his legs tight against the relentless movement of Rider's body, tries to keep moving to make it better for him too, sucking air whenever he can, fingers tracing patterns against Rider's back. Time seems to lose meaning, completely spun out of control in the feeling like Rider's moving over him forever, like Rider could keep moving over him forever and he'd be happy.

And then Rider's fingers tighten in Waver's hair and he groans and spills hot and sticky between Waver's legs. Waver makes a sound that he's relieved he can barely hear himself, muffled in Rider's chest, and rubs his thighs together even as Rider comes, smearing the hot sticky come against himself and Rider. It must draw out Rider's pleasure, though he can barely think about that practically or clinically, too absorbed in just how it feels. 

And then Rider kind of goes limp and Waver can't breathe and Rider's way too heavy, so he starts punching Rider's side over and over to try to get his attention. Rider finally rolls off him, and he's laughing, not his usual boisterous laugh but a low, soft, throaty sound.

"How," Waver manages, thick and strangled and hoarse, "how... how am I going to get to the bathroom like this, how am I going to clean up, it's all the way down the hall, what if they come up??"

Rider flops an arm over, pinning Waver down in a lazy drape. "You have the worst priorities, boy," he says fondly.


End file.
